


The Pathologist and The Brain

by Succi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humour, Romance, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Succi/pseuds/Succi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remember Helen Louise, the brain Molly is dissecting in The Sign of Three? This is the story of how the relationship of Sherlock and his pathologist finally progresses told from the point of view of said brain.  - Repost from my story at FF.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pathologist and The Brain

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Spoilers up to THE SIGN OF THREE. This takes place before the actual episode – since the scene with Helen Louise is a flashback, apparently.  
> For the sake of the story we pretend that Tom doesn’t exist   
> The thoughts of Helen Louise are in italics.  
> English is not my native tongue, and I’m way better in American than in British English, so please bear with me! No Beta, all mistakes are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue. I don’t own them so please don’t sue.

Helen Louise had not been exceptionally clever, but she had not been stupid either. Unfortunately she had not been clever enough not to drink the poison her former best friend had given her. Well, it was too late now, wasn’t it?

So it happened that the body of Helen Louise now lay on an autopsy table at St. Bartholomew’s Pathology covered with a white sheet. But a part from her body was missing. To be precise it was her brain. The pathologist in charge had taken it out of the skull and put it into a metal bowl to have a closer look at it – at the brain, not the bowl of course.

Said pathologist was holding the bowl firmly in her hands and told its content, ”Well, Helen Louise, let’s see what you can tell me.”

Apparently the brain had inherited the name of its owner.

_But if I am called Helen Louise now, does that mean that the arms and legs are called Helen Louise as well?_ But the brain didn’t bother. She had never had a proper name before. _So why not?_

The brunette woman touched Helen Louise gently with a finger. It tickled. The pathologist nodded and scribbled something on a chart.

Helen Louise liked the pathologist. She was gentle while handling her, and she even talked to her. Sure, that was a bit odd. But the brain liked the sound of her voice.

Helen Louise realised the woman was humming something. She knew the tune but couldn’t quite place it. It wasn’t so easy to think out of a body as one might believe.

 After finishing the writing, the doctor took something in her hand and put on some goggles, which made her look cute in an odd way.

Now the brain recognised the tune: It was the Bridal Chorus. Now she had to admit the petite pathologist was definitely a little weird. _I mean, humming a wedding song while mixing a brain... WHAT?!_ Now Helen Louise realised what the pathologist was holding in her hand: it was a hand-held blender. _Where had that come from, and what does she want to do with it?_ _Stupid question! You know exactly what she is about to do!_ Suddenly the doctor didn’t seem so nice anymore.

The mixer was coming closer. And she was still humming the merry wedding melody! Helen Louise cried out for help, trying to persuade her not to do it, but the pathologist couldn’t hear her. **_That_** _will be the end of me? A greasy puddle in a metal bowl? Hopefully the mushy remains of me will tell you something important, doctor!_ Just as the last pictures of the slideshow that had been Helen Louises’ life flashed before the brains’ eyes (figuratively speaking of course), the doors to the morgue opened and in came a tall man with dark curls and an expensive looking coat that few behind him like a cape. Helen Louise couldn’t have pictured a better saviour.

 

The pathologist stopped descending the mixer into the bowl, switched it off and looked up to the mysterious man. Her eyes seemed to sparkle with glee. Obviously Helen Louise wasn’t the only one being happy that the stranger entered the morgue... _Interesting._

”Hi Sherlock!” the pathologist greeted after clearing her throat.

_What kind of name is that?!_

“Hello Molly.” The voice of her saviour was a rich deep baritone, but devoid of emotion. Helen Louise couldn’t tell if he was happy to see the woman – whose name seemed to be Molly – or if he plain didn’t care. The doctor lifted the goggles off her face.

The man took a look at the brain and it felt small under his intense gaze, his eyes studying it like under a microscope. His eyes had a mealy shade of blue Helen Louise had never seen before. It stood in wide contrast to his dark hair. He turned back to Molly.

“What are you doing with it?” _Hey mister, I’m not an **It**! I have a name! _

“I was just about to blitz it to make samples. That’s Helen Louise.”

_At least she introduced me._

Sherlock nodded, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary that the pathologist named the brain.

When he didn’t say anything more, Molly asked, “Why are you here? Can I help you with something?”

“I just need to check up on my cultures. Keep working on your brain.” _I am not **her** brain! I am my own brain, and… What?! No! You are supposed to be my hero in shining armour, or coat... so keep her distracted! _

Although Helen Louise thought the tall man would walk away now and leave her at the mercy of the weird pathologist, he did not budge. He still stood beside Molly and eyed her curiously while her gaze was focused on the table, probably looking for the mixer again. His stare was very odd. He opened his mouth, but closed it again without saying something. He raked his hands through his curls, which seemed like a frustrated ( _or maybe nervous?)_ gesture. He sighed and Molly turned around. She looked surprised finding him still in the same spot next to her. Her eyes narrowed a little and her face showed slight worry.

“Sherlock, are you sure there’s nothing I can help you with?”

For a second Helen Louise thought he looked touched by her concern, but his features moved back into the blank mask so quickly, the brain was not sure if she’d only imagined it. The pathologist seemed to have had the same thought.

Sherlock spoke up again, “Actually you could do something for me. Coffee would be nice.” The last sentence was topped with a smile which was obviously fake.

The pathologist looked disappointed. “Sure.”

Her shoulders hunched and she walked away.

_Ok, I’m glad he sent her away so her mixing with me will be delayed, but what kind of macho is that?! Can’t you get your own coffee? You have feet and hands and you seem to know your way around. That was really not nice and..._ But Helen Louise had to stop mid-thought. As soon as Molly left, this Sherlock guy had **THAT** look again. The same he had had before when she hadn’t been looking at him. He looked troubled. There was clearly something on his mind, and it had something to do with the petite pathologist. He sighed deeply and walked over to a table where he sat down at a microscope.  

The man pulled off his coat and laid it over one of the empty autopsy tables.

_I don’t think that’s hygienic…_

He didn’t seem to care. His demeanour in general was very captivating – in a sophisticated and posh kind of way. One could say he was smug. But there was something beneath his cool surface that piqued Helen Louise’s interest.

Before long Molly was back with two steaming mugs of coffee. She put one down on the table next to Sherlock. _He is really rude. He doesn’t even thank her._ For the pathologist it must have seemed like he didn’t even acknowledge her, but when she turned around to walk back over to Helen Louise, the brain could see how his gaze was following her every move and how it had cost him effort to keep his eyes fixed on the microscope when she had put the mug down beside him. Helen Louise was sure he didn’t even know what the sample was, he was supposedly studying.

Molly put her coffee down as well, put the goggles back on and took the mixer in hand. As she switched it on, she started to hum The Bridal Chorus again. Helen Louise could see the mixer descending down on her again and could feel its puff produced by the rotation. _Well, that’s it then. As a soundtrack I would have preferred the Ride of the Valkyries, but what can you do… Goodbye world!_

Again Helen Louise was saved by the handsome man. This time it was his voice that brought the doctor to a halt.

“Seriously?”

“What?” was her eloquent reply. She laid the mixer back down on the table and looked over to Sherlock. He was turned towards her.

“You are singing The Bridal Chorus from Wagner, Molly. Why?”

The petite woman turned a bright shade of red. Her singing had obviously been unconscious. She stared at her shoes.

“I guess I’m just looking forward to the wedding.” Nervously she moved from one foot to the other. That seemed to be no answer for the man, so he got up and walked over to stand beside her again.

“I don’t see why you should.”

Molly looked up at him through her goggles.

“What do you mean?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Helen Louise could see that the pathologist regretted asking. She seemed to steel herself for whatever was coming. _But **what** was coming?_

Sherlock’s intense gaze flickered over her once and then he stated in a very fast way, so that Helen Louise felt as if the mixing had already taken place.

“You are not in a relationship, as you apparently don’t bother with make up or nice clothes. You left in a hurry today, because you overslept. You read until after midnight yesterday – some soppy romance novel I suppose. You were clearing your throat before speaking to me. I’m the first person you have been talking to so far. Since you use to live alone you are talking to your cat. And the only words you have spoken today before I came in were directed at that brain in the bowl. And you won’t go out on a date tonight, given by the state of your attire. Therefore it’s highly unlikely you will have someone to attend the wedding with. Hence I don’t see why you should be looking forward to a social event, where you are expected to attend with a partner when you will be going alone. Additionally I prefer the Wedding March from Felix Mendelsohn Bartholdy. It’s way more buoyantly than Wagner.”

_What?! He only knows all these things by just looking at her? I want to be alone in the storage room with his brain! NOW!_ _Still, how is that possible? Maybe he is a telepath? But that would mean, he can hear what I’m thinking. I should censor my thoughts!_

But when Helen Louise saw the shocked face of Molly, she felt sorry for her. True, the words had been very hurtful.

Molly swallowed hard and did her best to stand up straight. “I’m happy for John and Mary.” Then something crossed her mind. “And you don’t have a date as well.” He didn’t answer, but surprisingly the corners of his mouth twitched as if suppressing a smile. _What’s going on here? All of that feels really surreal, like an out-of-body-experience. But wait, that’s exactly what it is!_

The pathologist seemed confused by his expression as well. Finally he said, “Unlike you, I’m not looking forward to it.” “I didn’t expect you to.”

Now a crooked smile formed on his face. Molly was obviously nervous. Helen Louise could feel that there was more unsaid than said between the weird couple. There seemed to be a whole unspoken conversation going on between the two minds of them and the third brain in the room felt left out.

Suddenly the pathologist seemed to remember something. She crossed her arms in front of her chest in a defensive gesture. “You need to talk about having no interlocutor: You’re talking to a skull!” His look clearly transported that he hadn’t meant to insult her with his statement. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing. It was just an observation. I find Billy quite helpful at times.” _I reckon Billy is the name of the skull. If Billy has only an ounce of intelligence of this Sherlock, I want to meet him. Billy would understand how it feels to be separated from your body._

Before Helen Louise could think more about Billy the skull, she realized that Molly’s eyes had softened. Sherlock cleared his throat. “Well, will you come to the wedding with me, Molly?”

“Of course, I’m invited.” “No, I mean…” The man shifted uncomfortably. It was clear he had no idea how to proceed. His gaze darted away and landed on Helen Louise. But the brain knew he was not really looking at her, but desperately trying to look anywhere but at HER. Luckily for him it dawned on the pathologist what he had meant. Her face showed incredible disbelieves. “You mean… coming with you as in…” It was clear she needed him to articulate it. _God, just tell her! How hard can it be? She obviously likes you. Even I can see it and I don’t even have eyes!_

He nodded as if to himself. Then he looked back up at Molly and took a step closer to her. Strained she followed his movements with her eyes. He slowly lifted his hands to her goggles and withdrew them gently from her face. Molly’s hands dropped helplessly to her sides. Her eyes were wide in astonishment and she held her breath. Sherlock laid the goggles next to the mixer. Hesitantly he took Molly’s left hand in both of his. His gaze was fixed on their entwined hands as he said a little bit too reasonably, “In coming with me, I mean you are single, I am single and one should not attend a wedding alone. So it would only be beneficial for the both of us to attend the wedding together.” She exhaled and now it was his turn to hold his breath as he looked up from their entwined hands hesitantly to meet her eyes. She smiled sweetly at him.

“So you’re saying you want to be your… date?” Sherlock winced slightly at her last word. But he inhaled deeply before he made absolutely clear what he had meant.

“Yes, I’d like you to be my date at the wedding, Molly Hooper.” _Now, was that so hard?_ The pathologist beamed and laid her other hand over his that enfolded hers and squeezed them. A soft smile crossed her features. “Sherlock, you know that taking me to the wedding as your date means that you’ll have to dance with me.” The twinkle in her eyes betrayed her teasing, but he seemed appalled. “I am a fantastic dancer!” “Of course you are…”

He looked confused for a second, before staring back at their hands. “So, this means you’re gonna be my… date?” “Yes Sherlock. I’d loved to.”

That finally brought his eyes back to meet hers. “Good.” He nodded, clearly pleased with himself for fulfilling his task. He looked at her a moment longer. _Kiss her, you brilliant idiot!_ But Helen Louise was to be disappointed, when after a final squeeze Sherlock withdrew his hands from Molly and headed over to put on his coat. The pathologist seemed like in trance for she was only watching him. After putting on his coat, he turned around to her once more. “I’ll text you.” With that he walked towards the door, leaving the coffee and the untouched samples behind.

Helen Louise couldn’t believe it. _This is the end of it? This is unsatisfying, to say the least! For two intelligent people they seem rather stupid. I mean, they…_ But Helen Louise’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the morgue doors – or better: the lack of it. The man in the swishy coat had stopped dead in his tracks just before exiting the morgue. He straightened his back, turned around and a determined stride brought him back to where the petite woman was standing. He stopped only mere inches from her, so Helen Louise had feared they would collide. Instead Sherlock took Molly’s face in both of his hands, leaned down and kissed her. The pathologist was so taken by surprise that she couldn’t react at first. Her whole body went stiff for a moment, before she melted against him and moved one hand to his shoulder while the other disappeared in his dark curls. One of his hands snaked around her waist to draw her closer.

If Helen Louise would still have had cheeks, she would have blushed and averted her gaze. _Get a room!_ But the brain had to admit she was secretly pleased that her saviour in the Belstaff hadn’t just left. Before long the couple drew apart. Their faces were flushed and both a little out of breath. The twinkle in the doctor’s eyes was back. “Normally you don’t kiss the girl before the first date.”

“I’m talking to a skull on a mantelpiece and you are talking to a brain in a bowl. I don’t think anything about us can be considered normal.”

Helen Louise could only agree.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Skulls & Brains](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319955) by [Succi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Succi/pseuds/Succi)




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